


Sacrifice

by carolion



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook falls apart as Adam does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

Cook hadn’t meant to tell anyone about his brother. It was _private_ , and no one needed to know about him. He wasn’t going to use Adam as a way to boost his own ‘pity votes’ or whatever; he didn’t want that, never wanted that. But when people start snooping around your life, it’s inevitable they’ll find the weak spot, and hammer on it until you crumple.

He’d been doing a really good job, he thought, of staying calm. As the other Idols surrounded him with their condolences and soft, petting hands on his shoulders and arms, he smiled and bobbed his head and shrugged, trying to do all the right things, without really knowing what to say. ‘Thank you’? Yeah, thanks for noticing the giant glaring tragedy in my life, that you can’t help, and that doesn’t concern you. And it’s not like Cook is bitter about it or anything. It’s just - it’s his life, and his family. And Adam is - Adam is precious to him. Special, and private. It’s strange to think of that world and this world mixing, but they do, eventually.

Cook knows the cat is out of the bag when Archuleta approaches him, wringing his hands nervously and looking up at him with wide, cautious eyes. The kid works so hard, between his tutoring and his singing (he works twice, maybe three times as hard as the rest of them, and he always looks exhausted and a little confused, like he still can’t believe he’s really here, doing this) and the rest of the Idol craziness, that he doesn’t have time to sit around and gossip, like the rest of them. So Cook knows that if Archie knows? Pretty much everyone knows.

He waits, and Archie fidgets, and Cook groans quietly to himself.

“Cook I - I heard about your brother.” Archuleta is _way_ too earnest for his own good, Cook thinks to himself. “I had no idea, I mean I - I’m sorry?” And it’s the lilting question at the end of Archie’s apology that makes Cook duck his head to hide his smile. Trust Archie to try and say he’s sorry about Adam, like he’s sorry about spilling the milk or something. And then the tears prick at Cook’s eyes and he’s glad he’s got his head down, because he hadn’t expected this.

It happens, sometimes. When he thinks too much, or too little about it. It’s like a wave of emotion that sweets through him, taking him by surprise and forcing his throat to close up, and his eyes to get wet around the corners. Within a few deep breaths he’s back to normal though, and can look up to see Archuleta staring worriedly at him.

“Thanks Arch,” Cook says, looking away. He doesn’t really care. It’s not like Archie can fix it. But he supposes it’s a nice sentiment, especially for a kid so young, a _teenager_ , to care and really mean it when he offers his condolences.

“And - and I’ll pray for him, as much as possible,” Archie continues, his fingers reaching out to snag Cook’s jacket sleeve. Cook nods, still not looking at him. He gets this a lot. ‘Oh he’ll be in our prayers,’ and ‘God will help you through this,’ and all sorts of bullshit like that. Again, it’s a nice thought, but it doesn’t mean anything. Cook knows it’ll be up to the disease and to Adam’s immune system whether or not - well, whatever.

But Archie doesn’t stop there.

“I’ll pray and, um, oh! I’ll _fast!_ ” The boy’s face lights up, like he’s just had _the best idea ever_ , and his fist clenches in Cook’s jacket sleeve, so that it’s pulled tight around Cook’s forearm. Cook _does_ look at him now, blinking a little. Archie is smiling, and his eyes are bright.

“You’re going to fast?” Cook asks, incredulously. Surely Archie can’t mean what he thinks he means...

“Yeah! Like, um, in my church, when somebody gets sick or something, well obviously we pray, and usually they get like, blessings - hey does he, um, does he want a blessing? My dad is a priestholder... or um, yeah probably not - and then sometimes, like, fasting, giving up food and water, that’s really spiritual and it helps, a lot!” Cook blinks at him, and then yanks his arm from Archie’s grasp. This is a little too much, and it’s freaking him out.

“You’re going to give up food and water? For my brother to get better?”

Archie looks a little uncertain, but nods. “Uh, yeah? Is that okay?” Cook snorts.

“Archie, it’s not like a _cold_ , okay? He’s not going to get better in a couple of days!” Cook doesn’t even realize he’s shouting until he sees Archie flinching away from him. He stops immediately, and puts a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters, “it’s not your fault. I’m just - “ he sighs and shakes his head. “I appreciate it man, really.” Cook says finally, flatly.

Archie doesn’t say anything more, so Cook walks away.

It takes a couple of weeks for Cook to notice. The group kept getting smaller and smaller, so naturally Cook started hanging out with Archie more than he had in the beginning, and he starts to pick up on this vibe, this weird relationship he has with his dad. He’s notices that the kid looks tired lately, more so than usual, and that he might even be _thinner_ , though -

Cook is walking through the hallways one morning when he overhears Jeff Archuleta talking to son, in a clearly frustrated tone.

“David, you have to _eat_ something,” Jeff growls, and there’s a shriek of a chair pushing back against the ground.

“I do eat,” Archie says quietly.

“You did your part, okay? I know, I know what you’re doing, and it’s very, very kind of you, and very, very thoughtful, but this cannot go on any longer.” Jeff sounds softer, but still firm. “This is not like back at home, okay? You cannot afford to lose this competition because you’re dehydrated or underfed.”

“I’m not dehydrated! And I’m not underfed! I’m just, I’m just skipping a few meals, okay? It’s for Cook, and I told him I would, and I want his brother to get better, okay? That’s all. It’s not affecting me.”

Jeff’s voice gets lower, indistinguishable, and then there’s the sharp _crack!_ of a palm hitting flesh.

Cook jumps, his heart beating rapidly. Archie actually did it? He is _still_ doing it, fasting, or whatever? His stomach clenches with some tight, hot emotion, and he hastily darts away from the door, trying not to think of Archie pushing away plates of food and how his cheek must burn right now.

 

After the finale, Adam got better. Not like, right away of course. But he started to get a little a strength back, smiled more often, could be outside for longer and longer periods of time. Cook felt like his heart was going to soar right out his chest, in those first few weeks. Everything was great, amazing! The tour was going to start, and he was on top of the fucking world.

And Archie too - everything had been, and continues to be great. Cook isn’t exactly sure when he went from ‘that kid, Archuleta’ to ‘my good friend, Archie.’ And everything he feels is real. All the praise and the humor and the friendliness - Cook knows it’s real, and he’s excited for the tour, because it means he gets to spend more time with the top ten, and with Archie. They’ve really become his friends, people he enjoys hanging out with, singing music with, and he’s so fucking high right now, he can’t believe it.

It’s the first night of the tour and it’s exciting and different and he’s flushed and ready to go on all night if he has too. Everyone has been this way, laughing and joking with the audience, trying their best (if a little unsure - it is the first _real_ concert, after so many rehearsals) and singing their lungs out. And Cook is especially giddy because he got great fucking news.

“My brother’s tumor has stopped growing!” He tells the audience, and can’t help but strum his guitar happily, beaming out as the crowd roars it’s approval. Ever since everyone _knew_ , they’d been nothing but supportive. And, yeah, sometimes it was tiring, but now that it was getting better, and things were going _up_ , suddenly having everyone know wasn’t so bad.

Cook could have kissed the sky that night, floating on cloud nine. He never thought he would come back down.

 

 _All good things come to an end_ , Cook thinks bitterly, and closes his cell phone roughly. He’s half way between wanting to cry and wanting to scream, and he can’t decide which it’s gonna be.

Okay, he’s been dealing with this for a while now, and Adam’s - Adam’s disease has been a part of their life for _ten years_ , but it never gets easier, the ups and the downs. He’s worse. And he keeps getting worse, and this is pain, and heartbreak, and the doctor’s are saying _’This is the end of the road’_ and _’We can’t do much more - his body is shutting down’_ but they can’t say for how long Adam’s going to have to suffer, and Cook hurls his cellphone at the door, laughing wetly as it bounces off harmlessly, and lands on the carpet. That fucking thing was indestructible.

Cook sits down on the enormous bed in the enormous room in the enormous house in LA that he’d bought after the Idol tour, giddy and unstoppable. It still doesn’t feel like home, but it might, one day. He stares at the ground and tries not to think; it doesn’t work, of course not.

Adam was dying.

Adam had been dying since the day they diagnosed him.

But he was really dying now, wasting away at home, his body growing weaker, the cancer taking over.

Cook bows his head and sobs, his chest shivering with the force of his _pain_ and his _loss_ and he’s going to grieve now, while he can, because he knows no one is going to let him when the news gets out. So he takes his time and lets his ache fill him up and spill over, until he’s tired and sore and sleeping fitfully.

 

Cook is drunk. He’s very very drunk because they’d just finished a set in, oh, God knows where, and they’d played A Daily AntheM, and he’s pretty sure he kept it together for the whole song, but he can’t be positive. Anyway, the point is, alcohol had been required, and he hadn’t limited himself like, at all, so here he was, completely shit-faced, alone in his hotel room, as he squints at his cellphone and tries to dial.

 _”Hello? Cook, is that you?”_ Archie’s voice sounds weird through the phone, but he still sounds like Archie, though tired and groggy, like maybe he’d just woken up. Cook can’t even be bothered to check the time, or where he is, or where Archie is, so it could be fuck-all time in the morning for Archie, and he doesn’t even care.

“When did you stop?” He demands immediately, his thoughts jumbled and racing.

 _”Cook, oh my gosh, what time is it? Are you okay?”_ And he sounds like he’s waking up now, the rustle of sheets and clothing as he obviously climbs out of bed. (Cook shivers and wants to lay down next to him, maybe, and hold his hand for dear life, but that makes no sense, so he banishes the thought.)

“When did you fucking stop? Archie, I have to know, when did you stop,” Cook’s aware he sounds insane. He knows it, in some far-away place in his head, but it doesn’t stop him.

 _”When did I stop what?”_ He has a right to be confused, but Cook can’t help it as tears roll down his cheeks, and he knows that Archie can hear him crying, because there’s a concerned gasp and a _’Oh my gosh, Cook! What’s wrong?’_ from the other end.

“When did you stop praying for Adam? Huh? When did you start - when did you forget about him?” Cook clings to the phone, pressing his knuckles against his eyes until he sees bright white spots. “When did you start eating again, when did you stop fasting?” He needs to know.

 _”Cook I - I_ never _forgot about Adam! I always kept him in my heart, in my prayers!”_ That is a lie. Cook can hear it in the way his friend’s voice stumbles, in the guilt that lines his pitch. Archie always was a fucking bad liar.

“Don’t fucking lie to me Archie, tell me when you stopped!” He roars, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

 _”A-after tour, I guess, I just, I wasn’t around you, and you were so happy! And he was doing better, and my dad said-”_ Of course, of fucking course. After tour, Adam had been doing so fucking well _during_ the summer tour, but after, after...

“It’s your fault! You never should have stopped! You made him better, you did! And then you stopped, and now he’s dying, and he’s going to be _gone_ , and it’s your fucking fault David!” Cook can’t even see through the tears anymore, and he’s hiccuping brokenly, drunkenly, and moaning.

 _”Cook I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh my gosh, Cook,_ please _, please, I’m so sorry,”_ and Cook can hear Archie’s little short gasps for air, and realizes he’s crying too, and it makes him feel _good_ , in this little, awful part of his heart, he feels satisfied because everyone should feel the same pain he feels. Cook can hear other voices now, and then -

 _”Who is this? What do you want?”_ It’s Jeff, and Cook feels angry and hurt and betrayed, and he just wants Archie back on the phone, but that’s not gonna happen, so he just yells ‘Fuck!’ at the phone and hurls it onto the ground and falling back on the bed, howling out his anguish.

 

The next day he calls and apologizes.

Well, he leaves a voicemail, because Archie won’t pick up his phone. Then he sends a couple texts that go unanswered (possibly unread), and then he finally calls Jeff and apologizes to him, trying to explain the situation the best he could.

 _”You’ve really upset my son, Cook,”_ Jeff says stiffly, and Cook feels a wash of guilt spread through his body. Yes, last night he wanted to blame Archie for Adam’s illness, and he wanted to make Archie feel as bad as he did, but he never should have actually vocalized it. He never should have said those terrible things ( _’Your fault! Your fucking fault!’_ ) to a kid who was barely eighteen.

“I know. And I’m very, very sorry. Will you please just let him know? I never meant to -” _hurt him_ , he doesn’t say. Because he did want to hurt him. “- blame him. I wasn’t in the right state of mind. It was a mistake.”

It’s not a long conversation. Not like he and Jeff have anything in common besides American Idol, and the fact that Jeff was Archie’s father. He just didn’t know any other way to reach the kid.

Cook spends the rest of the day thinking about David Archuleta, God, and life and death. When people ask him what’s on his mind, he can only shrug. What is he supposed to tell him? ‘I’m wondering if God is real or if maybe David Archuleta is magical, and if he saved my brother, or if he killed him.’ And when people ask him how it’s going, he says fine, like a robot, with a smile and a wink and they believe him, just like that.

Cook never thought he was a very good actor, though maybe he’s wrong. He just knows that this is the last day he’ll let himself dwell on it - from now on, he cannot grieve, not like that, not again. Not until he’s really gone, because Cook has to keep living, no matter what.

 

He’d already gotten the call from his manager, and had agreed right away. He hadn’t really expected Archie to call him, but there it was, just like that. Like nothing had happened.

 _”So - what do you think of Manila?”_ Archie asks, apropos of nothing, just out of the blue, the first thing from his mouth. And Cook can tell from the quick cadence of his words that’s he’s nervous and trying to bluff his way through the conversation, like he’s not terrified of what Cook might say.

“Man, it sounds insane. I’m really excited. Uh, are you on board? Because I’d love to see you again, man.” It takes all of Cook’s resolve to stay calm and not say ‘I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sorry, it wasn’t your fault, I’m an idiot, forgive me, I’m sorry’ but he manages it.

He can hear Archie’s sigh of relief. “Oh my gosh, I know! It’s going to be so awesome, and like, I can’t wait to hear you play live again, with the band and everything. You guys are amazing, did I mention that? I love the CD.” Cook grins, because Archie is totally rambling, and it’s just like old times.

They’re not going to mention it, apparently. Cook is relieved, because, he can’t deal with dredging that night up again, so he just nods stupidly and presses himself into the couch, listening to Archie talk into his ear.

 

When Adam dies, Cook is prepared. He didn’t expect it or anything, not like he marked the day off on a calender or waited by the phone, but it still isn’t a _surprise_. He cries anyway, nodding and muttering soft things to his mother and to Andrew, carefully steering his thoughts away from his niece and his nephew (because he refuses to think about them, about them living without their father) and collapsing into bed, exhausted. Tomorrow, or today, rather, since it was well into the early morning now, he is still going to the Race and he’s still going to give a speech, and he still has to carry on.

He announces that Adam has died, during his speech. He cries, and it’s normal, he doesn’t feel ashamed, especially when other people cry too. It’s - it’s comforting. He feels loved, and he feels welcomed, and it doesn’t hurt so much. It’s like, it’s like everyone is mourning with him, and instead of the downward spiral he had those months ago, it actually lifts him up, and he thinks about Heaven for the first time in a long time and wonders if it exists.

Archie texts him later that day: _’Are you okay? I just heard. :( I’m sorry.’_ Cook feels a faint flash of old guilt, like an old bruise getting bumped again. His throat closes up, a little, because he knows what Archie is thinking of, and that those old words are echoing in his head ‘your fault, your fault’ but it’s not true, and it’s never been true.

‘I’m fine. Will be fine. Thanks. x’ He sends back, and hopes that’s enough to ease Archie’s worry, and to soothe his own guilt. It seems to work.

 

Manila is joy and laughter and awe and love. Archie is sweet and strong and fond and beautiful. Cook is overwhelmed.

Everything about the experience has been like a dream, and he hasn’t been this happy since, since a whole year ago, since after the finale, since the summer Idol tour. It’s like the pure glee inside of him is going to bubble right out of him, pour into the audience, and infect them with his happiness. (Though maybe it’s the opposite, maybe they’re pouring out and he’s taking it in; either way, Cook is laughing and jumping and hugging everyone he can.) He has a sneaking suspicion, however, that a lot of his happiness has to do with David Archuleta.

Since the moment they reunited, Cook couldn’t stop touching him. A hand on his chest, or slung around his shoulders, or cupping his neck, gently, supporting him. The huge surge of relief he felt just to have Archie back in his life, with his smile big and beaming and _there_ , not on a television or in a magazine, but really there, it was incredible.

Archie was tentative, at first. Clearly afraid of how Cook would react, especially with Adam’s death still so fresh behind them. Maybe he was still waiting for the accusing words, or the cold shoulder, or maybe he was just waiting for Cook to break down in front of him, but it was soon obvious he didn’t need to worry. That Cook was just fine with him.

Still, he felt the need to prove himself to Archie. To make sure that everything really was okay between them. He wanted Archie to feel how he felt, how joyous and beautiful and clear everything seemed.

He hooks an arm around Archie’s neck and drags him to sing on stage during ‘A Daily AntheM,' shoving a mic at the younger boy and encouraging him to sing with all he has. And of course, of course, Archie does. And the sound soars, and soars, and Cook looks up to the sky and presses his fingertips up, like he touch Heaven.

When they walk offstage, Cook leans into Archie’s sweaty-damp body, and nestles his face against his wet hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, and keeping his arm wound tight around the boy. Archie leans back, his body vibrating with life, and Cook feels alive, again, for the first time in a long time.

He knows it’s going to be okay.


End file.
